Saints of Gold
by JubileeKnight
Summary: A Narnia collection. Never: Aboard the Splendor Hyaline in flight from Calormen, Susan and Edmund discuss marriage, politics, family, and regrets. Added: Reconciliation.
1. Never

**Saints of Gold**

A/N: This is not Chapter Two of Damascus Road, although I am still working on that. This is mainly a place for scraps that may one day find their way into full stories or may not, beginning with a one-shot written in honor of an off-site friend for her inestimable Susan and for encouraging me when I debated against ever letting it see the light of day.

 **Never.**

Prince Corin (the real one) had been settled (for the time being and with great reluctance) into his bed in the kings' cabin. The queens had their own, but it was currently empty with Lucy at home at Cair Paravel and Susan too wakeful to seek her own rest. Edmund leaned against the stern railing gazing back across the sea. Overhead, a couple of the sailors, one Peridan's cousin, Bertil, and the other a Raccoon from Stormness Head who had scandalized his family when he chose to go to sea, clambered through the rigging removing the last of the colored lanterns and ribbons that had been placed there to convince the Calormenes of their deception.

"I thought to find you at the prow, urging us on toward home," said Susan, joining her brother at the railing. She could have remarked on his restlessness, but then he was likely to respond by commenting on hers.

He didn't look away from the southern sea, but a wry smile touched his lips. "Were you not the one who scolded me recently for spending too much of my time looking backwards? Where else would I be?"

That had been before they left for Calormen, no more than two months ago before Rabadash's charming guise had begun to slip, but it seemed more like an age. "Have you seen anyone following?"

A practical consideration, far more relevant than any of the others that lay beneath the surface. He shook his head. "Captain Nils hasn't mentioned anyone, either. They'd be hard-pressed to catch us now. Unless the Tisroc plans an ambush, I don't believe our little imposter gave us away after all."

It was almost enough to allow one to relax. "He would need Gulls for messengers to outpace us, and Calormen has never been kind to talking beasts." It had been one of her doubts about the match before the negotiations had fallen apart.

"The more fools, they," he muttered to the dark water. "Speaking of messengers, does Lu know we're on our way?"

"She will know shortly. I wrote as soon as we left the harbor. You didn't?" she added. "I thought you would be celebrating your vindication." There was more weariness than sharpness to the words, but his shoulders tensed anyway, and his hands gripped the railing more tightly.

"I'm not sorry Rabadash showed his true colors before you - we - were inextricably bound to him and to Calormen," he said carefully. "But I _am_ sorry for the disappointment. For your sake, I wish he had been what you and Peter hoped him to be."

It was a diplomat's answer, despite the fact that their current flight was hardly diplomatic. "Well," she said, "I am glad the worst foolishness has been avoided, whether or not Peter appreciates it. I would hate for you to love me less."

 _That_ startled him into looking up. "Never." His eyes unfocused and then changed as he pulled up the memory of their conversation before setting sail. "It was a poor jest." He paused. "I considered it a lapse in judgment, but only because I feared for you. For your heart, for your person. For Narnia, as I don't know how she would fair without her Gentle Queen for six months out of the year."

"I know," she said, though it was good to hear. There would be enough recriminations due to this episode. "I would have missed you as well."

He smiled at the assurance, or perhaps, simply at not having to say the words. More briskly, he said, "As for the Magnificent, if I tell him half of what Rabadash said to me in Tashban, he'll demand to know why I didn't challenge the prince to a duel on the spot."

Susan raised an eyebrow. "You haven't told _me_ what Rabadash said to you."

"No," Edmund agreed. "Since you've sense enough not to marry him, there's no need for me to offend either of us. And I would have, if there had been anything to be gained by it."

"Would have told me or would have challenged him?" she wondered aloud.

He raised his own eyebrow. "If I told you, I'd have to wash my own mouth out with soap the way Mum used to." His mouth puckered as if recalling the taste or possibly because the next admission pained him to make. "His royal boorishness is rightfully proud of his skill with a blade. Although-" He smiled fiercely. "I'm better."

She smiled as well. Peter would have fought to the death for her, and she loved him for it. Edmund would have ensured they never had to, and she loved _him_ for _that_. "You didn't like him before that, though."

He straightened, stretched and looked up at the stars. "Well, I'm suspicious and skeptical, you know. Even of our little imposter. I didn't write Lucy because I've been trying to determine how I can possibly tell King Lune about our encounter and still look him in the eye."

"We had no way of knowing until he was gone, and then no way of being certain," Susan said. She bit her lip. "I might have tried my influence before we left. Once last time." The hint that she was once again softening had improved Rabadash's disposition for the short time before their escape.

Edmund shook his head. "We couldn't risk it. We had to leave. I only hope that if it _was_ the missing prince, he finds his way home sooner rather than later."

"But you do believe he'll find his way home."

"Aslan has accomplished greater things," he said, and then grimaced. "But it is difficult to leave it to him on occasion."

She reached across and squeezed his hand. "One miracle tonight, at least. Though, that is no reason for inaction." If they had left it entirely in the Lion's paws, they might never have left Tashban. "We will play our part. Do we have any contacts who might be useful?"

He nodded slowly. "A very few. Fair-haired boys are rare enough in Calormen, even among slaves. If he wasn't assigned to spy, then he was almost certainly running away from something." After a moment, he repeated, "Almost certainly. He had the air. I should have seen it at the time."

She didn't ask what air he meant. Edmund had a gift for recognizing wounded children that he had never been willing to discuss and which consequently was no longer questioned. He'd been in a cold fury six years into their reign over a dictatorial board of schoolmasters who had set up in Lantern Waste, and refused all other projects until the institution had been disbanded. That was not a hole into which she would allow him to fall tonight.

"Then may the Lion speed his flight as ours." He looked at down at her, and she echoed his own words. "He has accomplished greater things."

He smiled. "I am very glad Rabadash did not succeed in stealing you away," he said. "For all his fine poetry and expensive silks." The words were light, but his expression was sincere.

Better to laugh at it than to mourn, she supposed. "The poetry had its points. The silks _were_ lovely, but the offer pressure his father to end harassment of the Lone Islands was enchanting."

"If I'd thought him sincere," Edmund trailed off. "It would still have been an uneven trade."

Susan recalled the council that had met to discuss the prince's suit. "You said as much."

He winced. "I was a boor."

"A small one."

"An enormous one. I had as big a part to play in bringing us _here_ as any of us."

" _Our navy is at strength. I'll not accept selling our sister as the price of a peace we can achieve on our own."_

" _Edmund." Susan frowned at him._

 _Two lines formed between Peter's eyes, an echo of their father when he was particularly exasperated. "What_ would _you accept then?" It was poorly phrased, but the high king's expression showed that he had not meant the words as they escaped._

 _On a fairer day in an easier mood, Edmund would have overlooked them. "I thought my price was well-documented," he said. There was an appalled silence, and then he stood. "Forgive me, I don't believe I'm fit for these chambers at the moment." He nodded to the councilors, bowed to Susan and Lucy and stood, ramrod straight, before his brother, waiting. "My king."_

 _It was a standing agreement that they refrained from argument before witnesses. Peter nodded, shortly._

 _Edmund bowed. Before leaving, he added in a more peaceable tone, "I would let him prove his good faith."_

"Did you truly think his gift to you was purposeful?" She hadn't believed it then, but it seemed more likely now.

Though he saved the richest for his hoped-for bride, Rabadash had showered all the sovereigns of Narnia with gifts in his suit for Susan's hand: swords and daggers of Calormene make for the kings, embroidered silks and jewels for the queens, wines from the vineyards along the coast, and in memory of a years-previous visit to Tashban, a box of Turkish Delight for Edmund.

A look of disgust for - someone - crossed Edmund's face. "It's the sort of thing I would do if I wanted to subtly insult someone without appearing to do so," he said. "All it takes is a bit of research and a smiling presentation, and Calormenes are _excellent_ at presentation. The nicest thing about being home will be being able to take a meal without ten minutes of poetry describing each course-"

"Ed." He stopped rambling and raised both eyebrows in his best innocently curious expression. "Don't change the subject, please."

For a moment he looked as if he might deny the accusation, but then he shrugged. "I thought so. Although backstabbing is such an art in the Tisroc's court, he may have meant it as a compliment."

The thought nagged, even more than the hundred of little objections that had appeared to the match once they arrived in Tashban. Perhaps because it might have prevented this whole trip if she - if any of the rest of them - had shared his misgivings. "He apologized very prettily," she said thoughtfully.

Edmund smiled sardonically. "Yes, he did. To me, as well. Ten thousand apologies for having unintentionally offended, etc." There was a slight strain in his voice. "I was content to ignore it. I supposed someone had spoken to him, though if it _was_ intentional, it was hardly news." That the Just King had once betrayed his family and people was far from a secret even beyond Narnia's borders. Still, certain details tended to be jealously guarded. "I didn't think you would tell him so much."

Quietly indignant, she said, "If he learned, it was not from me. I would not so betray you."

Silence.

"Edmund. You didn't think that?"

He sighed, eyes lidded, but the edge had left his voice when he answered her. "I thought you would not be so frank without need with anyone to whom you had not very thoroughly given your heart. You _were_ fond of him." It was her turn for silence. He raised penitent eyes. "Will you forgive me for doubting you?"

She shook her head at his expression. "Have I ever been able to not?"

 _"Never."_


	2. The Coming of the Four

**Saints of Gold**

 **The Coming of the Four**

 _As told by Phoebus the Faun, Court Bard during the Golden Age of Narnia. This recitation became a part of the ceremonies held yearly on the anniversary of the Battle of Beruna._

Hear the tale of the coming of the Four and the triumph of Aslan. It began before the Long Winter, before the White Witch's reign, at the very Dawn of Time when Aslan sang the world into being with the words handed down from his father, the Emperor-over-the-sea. Even on that first day had evil entered Narnia, though its coming was still as the echo of a whisper. In those first days, King Frank and Queen Helen ruled from their home by the eastern sea, the Tree of Protection flourished in the Lantern Wood, and the Stone Table rose on a hill beyond the Great River, engraved with words of promise and of warning.

Little was the need for judgment and retribution in those early days, and the words etched into the side of the Stone Table faded from the memory of all but a few. Narnians grew lax in defense of their land and forgetful that duty comes with freedom and justice with law. But Aslan remembered, for Aslan knew, and the evil that lurked in the north remembered as well.

She came from the north with storm and with magic and before her onslaught, the Tree of Protection fell, and the line of Frank and Helen, of Adam and Eve, faltered, fled, were killed and were driven. The once proud Lantern Wood became a waste for there the last defense of Narnia was erected and felled. Narnia was wrapped in ice and the memory of man erased by fear and by spell. Truth survived in whispers and in legends and prophecy offered hope.

"When Adam's flesh and Adam's bone

Sit at Cair Paravel in throne,

The evil time will be over and done."

In the last year of the Long Winter in Lantern Waste where once the Tree of Protection had stood, the long-closed door between worlds was opened, and a Daughter of Eve entered Narnia for the first time in one hundred years. There she was found by one foolish and timid who had bent but not yet broken under the White Witch's thumb. His cave was lightened by her laughter and her hope. And thus it was that the first act of Lucy the Valiant was to bring courage and renewed faith to Tumnus the faun. Tumnus concealed her from the Witch and enabled her return to her own country, for the time was not yet, although the herald of spring had arrived.

"Wrong will be right, when Aslan comes in sight.

At the sound of his roar, sorrows will be no more.

When he bears his teeth, winter meets its death,

And when he shakes his mane, we shall have spring again."

Magic often works in threes and only when the door to the fair land of Spare Oom had opened thrice did the three siblings of the Valiant Queen accompany her into Narnia. Two fair Daughters of Eve and two strong Sons of Adam, young in body, but great in the hopes that rested upon them. For in the throne room of long-deserted Cair Paravel stood four great thrones awaiting the promised sovereigns, and the loyal trees whispered that Aslan once again trod the hills and valleys of Narnia.

But when great good stands to combat evil, great wickedness seeks to overwhelm it. The Beavers of the Western Wood, not Tumnus the faun, would guide the young royals to Aslan and to their thrones, for treason walked beside them, and perfidy haunted their footsteps.

Unbeknownst to his siblings and their friends, the younger son of Adam had already entered into conference with the White Witch, had tasted of her food and been ensnared, and had pledged himself to her cause for the promise of power over the rest. It was he who had betrayed the faun Tumnus to the secret police and he who abandoned his family to carry news of their plans to the Witch. And thus it was that the first act of Edmund the Just was treachery: against his kin, against Narnia, against the Great Lion himself.

Bereft of one of their number, the three remaining sovereigns and their allies, the Beavers, pressed on toward the Stone Table and the camp of Aslan, for only the Lion could bring hope with the prophecy broken and only he could restore the lost.

The hope of the Lion remained powerful indeed, for through the breach in the Witch's spell, Aslan's servants followed. Though barred from Narnia for all the Long Winter, Father Christmas was once again found sleighing through the woods, and by commission from Aslan, he bestowed upon the prince and princesses the great treasures of Narnia. The sword Rhindon and the lion shield for the elder king. The unerring bow and magic horn for the elder queen, and the healing cordial for the younger queen. Thus armed and amid the long-awaited spring, the three approached the greatest of all kings to answer his call and beg his aid.

Still the Witch had not forgotten the prophecy nor ceased her attempts to frustrate it. With the knowledge gleaned from the younger son of Adam, she sent Maugrim, the chief of her secret police and deadliest of her wolves to intercept the three. As the young prince took counsel from the Great Lion, his sisters were in grave danger. Swiftly, Maugrim attacked, but swifter still was the elder daughter of Eve in warning. And thus it was that for the first time in history, the magic horn of Susan the Gentle sounded through the forests of Narnia.

Wasting no time at his sister's call, the youth rushed the fell beast, wielding Rhindon with the courage of a man of many years rather than a boy of few. Many wondered in the fierceness of the battle, but at the last, the terror of the Western Woods lay dead. And thus it was that Peter the Magnificent, ere yet he bore the title of high king, won his knighthood and the name of Wolfsbane.

More was required for the defeat of the Witch, however. Though spring had come, prophecy decreed that the four must stand united before her evil reign would be truly past. So Aslan dispatched a band of loyal and brave souls to enter the Witch's camp and retrieve the traitor.

The eyes of the betrayer were opened to his transgressions, and he returned to his family and the favor of Aslan. But justice will not be denied, and even the penitent must bow to its demands.

Justice was the claim of the Witch who sought to thwart the prophecy by slaying the younger son of Adam. For on that nearly forgotten first day, death had been decreed as the punishment for treachery, the Stone Table the place, and the Witch the lawful executor of the sentence. None could gainsay her right, be it Adam's son or Eve's daughter, talking beast or child of Earth, or the Lion Aslan himself.

But the Lion's will could not be overcome. In private conference with the Witch, Aslan proposed a different plan. That the deep magic of justice might be satisfied, the law be answered, and the prophecy yet fulfilled, and most of all, out of his great mercy and love, he would submit himself to die in the traitor's stead. In her malice, the Witch accepted, for what was the life of one treacherous prince to the life of the greatest of all kings?

In the darkness of that night, the Witch gathered her minions to witness the death of the Lion: the darkest of assemblies for the darkest of purposes. Also as witnesses watched the two young queens, silent and hidden at Aslan's command, but trembling in horror and grief. With the deed done, the evil entourage withdrew to prepare for battle, but the queens remained, keeping vigil over the dead.

So it was that the Gentle and the Valiant witnessed the working of the deeper magic. For mercy and sacrifice have a power more ancient than hatred and death, and with the sun's rising came the crack of the world ending and beginning anew. Death was undone, the Table was broken, and the Lion roared.

New life was the Lion's on that day of Beruna, and life was his gift. His roar penetrated the icy walls of the White Witch's house and his breath restored to life her victims, imprisoned in stone throughout the long years of her tyranny. They rejoiced in the Lion who had freed them, and followed him to the Fords of Beruna where Narnia's faltering army still defied the Witch's force. Surrounded by stone and by the dead, the Magnificent fought against the Witch herself. Near death lay the traitor redeemed, amid the shards of a broken wand and a sword that had dealt its final blow. The young high king pressed on, but the Witch pressed back fiercely, the strength she had stolen in Narnia's first days unwearying still, while the prince was mortal as all of Adam's sons.

The roar of the Lion raised every friendly hope and struck the enemy with fear. The newly awakened joined themselves to the fray, but as prophecy foretold, it was when the Lion bared his teeth that Winter, at last, met her death.

The four thrones had yet to be filled and could not be while life drained from the younger son of Adam. The Valiant Queen still possessed the healing cordial gifted to her by Father Christmas, however, and she employed it to good effect that day. Many who would have tasted death on that field looked up to see only the sweep of the Valiant's hem as she turned away to save another.

Many others remembered the smile of the Gentle and the thanks of the Magnificent as they walked the blood-stained field. More received new life as Aslan breathed upon them. Saved from death twice in a night and a day, the Just knelt by the ford and received knighthood at the paws of the Lion.

Mourning was declared for the fallen, and the living retired to the east. The cries of the seagulls and the song of the merfolk heralded the day in which Aslan crowned his chosen four in the great castle of Cair Paravel. Known to the Lion and their people as Magnificent and Gentle, as Valiant and Just, they are gratefully served. Long may they reign.

 _Following the Golden Age, the final words were amended to: "gratefully remembered. May their return be soon."_


	3. Fraternity

A/N: As usual, none of the characters in this story are mine. They belong to C.S. Lewis. This is a missing moment from _The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe_ that didn't quite fit in any of my stories.

 **Saints of Gold**

 **Fraternity**

As the Narnians prepared to move camp, the effect of Aslan's roar lingered. "That showed her!" Edmund heard one vindicated satyr exclaim.

"Thank the Lion!" said a dryad.

"Come on," said Peter. The enthusiasm of the others didn't seem to have reached him. He looked - well, rather like Edmund felt - as if _he_ were the one who had just escaped a death sentence. "Let's get you something to eat before we have to move out." He gestured towards the pavilion.

Edmund followed Peter's wave. He'd hardly eaten in the last couple of days, and food, especially food that was not Turkish Delight, sounded wonderful now that his appetite had returned. Under the golden canopy were some cushions and table that held some berries and cheese and part of a loaf of bread. It looked like the remains of someone's breakfast. A few days earlier Edmund would have complained about being expected to take anyone's leftovers, but he was biting into his second strawberry before the thought even occurred to him.

" _Ed!"_ he heard, and turned and flinching. What had he done now? His brother's expression had changed from solemn to barely suppressed anger. Peter strode up next to him and hurried them both into the tent. "What did she do to you?" he demanded.

Edmund blinked in confusion.

"Your shirt's in ribbons," Peter hissed. "What did she do?"

Edmund's jaw dropped. He hadn't thought about the marks of the whip being visible when he turned his back. He tried to remember the last time he'd seen Peter so angry _for_ him, instead of _at_ him. "I didn't walk fast enough," he said, too thrown to think of a lie.

 _No more lies anyway,_ he reminded himself.

Peter - upright, upstanding, golden boy Peter Pevensie - muttered, "I'll kill her." He must have seen Edmund's wide eyes at this because he collected himself visibly. "I'm sorry, Ed. I'm-"

Abruptly, Peter pulled him closer. "I'm sorry," he whispered fiercely. "You wouldn't have gone to her, if I hadn't driven you off."


	4. Revenge

A/N: Peter and Edmund are not mine. They belong to C.S. Lewis. Philo is only sort of mine. This is a one shot from the same maybe-I'll-write-someday story as "Never," and takes place some months before _The Horse and His Boy._

 **Saints of Gold**

 **Revenge**

"You truly mean to claim this is not your form of revenge?" said Edmund, standing and gazing out the window as one of the royal messengers, a song thrush named Philo, winged away from the castle. Philo wheeled southwest to follow the river, and Edmund turned to look back inside at his brother and king.

Peter had stood as soon as the letter was entrusted to Philo and was unrolling a map of the northern marshes on a table across the room. He looked up, genuine puzzlement on his face. "What possible reason could I have for wanting revenge against King Lune?"

The councilors, like Philo, had already left the chambers, so there was no one to see Edmund roll his eyes at his brother. "Not against Lune, against me. I'm going to be the one with charge of the boy, if his father accepts your offer."

"Our offer," corrected Peter. "I'm surprised, Ed. You were the one who brought up the old tradition of fosterage in the first place. These are the things we are trying to bring back, the signs of our close relationship with Archenland."

Edmund grimaced. Peter was not quite so pointed as their sisters about bringing back old words to haunt him, but the high king's memory could still be uncomfortably keen on occasion. "I don't remember using quite those words," he temporized. He _had_ noted and mentioned the practice of fostering young nobles between the neighboring countries, a tradition that dated to the time when the kings of Narnia and Archenland were brothers, and then cousins, and the visits were as much about kin keeping close as they were about international relations.

"Besides," said Peter, "I've even less need for revenge on you as Lune. Unless you count stranding me with the Duchess of Galma at the ball yestereve so that you could talk history with the Telmarine ambassador all night. We ought to have words about that."

Edmund raised an amused eyebrow. "If you were angry about that, you'd have informed on me to Susan, not threatened me with wardship of a reluctant crown prince," he said, unrepentant.

Peter laughed aloud. In the courtyard below, several heads turned to look up at the open window. "Reluctant is never a word I'd use to describe Prince Corin, unless he's very much changed from two years ago."

"Reluctant in his royal duties only from what I observed when I visited Anvard last summer," said Edmund dryly, crossing the room to look down at the map Peter studied. "Only too enthusiastic in everything else. He'd be better pleased following you on your tour of the north than sitting in on judgment days with me." Edmund did not add that Corin wasn't the only one who would prefer to accompany Peter, although he doubted it needed to be said. Peaceful though the mission might be, Edmund did not care for seeing his brother ride out with anyone else at his back.

"Perhaps for a part of the journey," Peter said. "He'll need experience in first hand observation, after all. How to see to the needs of his people, even if those needs will vary more among our folk than those of Archenland. Then the two of you can travel back to Cair Paravel-"

"And you have your revenge for all the gray hairs I gave you," completed Edmund.

Peter put a hand to his hair reflexively. "I'm not going gray," he said, shaking his head. His two youngest siblings had been teasing him about his so-called advancing age since he turned twenty-five. "And you'll manage Corin quite well." Before Edmund could reply, he added, "But if I _were_ getting gray hairs, it would be more the fault of Susan's latest admirer. At least, he's finally been convinced she'll not accept him."

"His uncle's been convinced, more like," said Edmund. "Prince Ivar would have taken the very first hint and left if it wasn't for Samvar's pushing him."

"I thought our sister might have liked him," said Peter. "If he were not so…" He seemed to search for an appropriate word.

"Pliable?" suggested the younger king. "He was too easily awed. He could barely look Su in the face to dance with, and I suspect Samvar of making most of the decisions in Terebinthia. He wouldn't have attempted to interfere in Narnia on his own, but Samvar might, and I didn't trust Ivar to support Susan over the man who nearly raised him. He's a good enough man, but he's a poor prince and he'd be an unworthy consort."

Peter frowned agreement and sat back down heavily. "I was afraid Susan might get the idea it was her job to make him better. She can be so tender-hearted."

"Tender-hearted, but not weak-minded. She wouldn't sacrifice Narnia to Ivar's improvement," Edmund said confidently. "But the Terebinthians are on their way home, and we only have a Galman duke and a Telmarine ambassador to concern ourselves with for the time being."

"And perhaps an Archenlandish prince," Peter reminded him.

"As if I could forget!"


	5. Reconciliation

A/N: Characters and situations are not mine. They belong to C.S. Lewis's estate. I am simply happy to play here. This events of this one shot take place with the first week of the Pevensies' reign and are referenced in "His Throne Is Upholden," if anyone was curious as to just what Susan was talking about. Some of my stories could potentially exist in both book and movie-verse, but this one is exclusively bookverse.

 **Saints of Gold**

 **Reconciliation**

Some duties of the new kings and queens were onerous tasks. Drafting thank you letters for the various coronation gifts was a mixture of pleasant and tedious, but one that Susan and Peter insisted on. Sword practice was exciting, exhausting and often painful, as was archery practice. Counting supplies in the storerooms and pantries of Cair Paravel was most definitely tiring, but the inhabitants of the castle needed to eat, and as Susan pointed out, they ought to know what as well as who they had taken responsibility for.

 _This_ duty, however, was not unpleasant in any way at all. Bestowing well-deserved honors on beloved friends was, Lucy declared, "the best part of being a queen!"

Unfortunately, unlike the lamassu Rostam who had humbly accepted his elevation to Narnia's general after Beruna, not every friend and subject was so willing to accept a position under the new sovereigns.

"Your majesties," said Mr. Tumnus bowing nervously. "I'm grateful - and touched - it is very kind of you - but I can't possibly accept such an honor."

"Are you certain?" asked King Peter. The new high king looked troubled.

"But why?" asked Queen Susan.

"Can't we change your mind?" asked Queen Lucy.

King Edmund shifted, as if his seat were uncomfortable, although the finest crafters in Narnia's history were said to have designed the four thrones of Cair Paravel.

Mr. Tumnus smiled at his first little friend. "It would be the greatest privilege to serve as your aide, my dear Queen Lucy. But I cannot recommend myself to you or to anyone. A faun who aided the White Witch, who endangered your majesty despite your friendship-"

"Who saved my sister's life!" interrupted Peter, incredulously, and then looked embarrassed because interrupting is a terrible habit in anyone and even more so in a king, although many of them do it.

"Oh Mr Tumnus, don't be ridiculous!" said Lucy without any embarrassment at all. "Whatever you _meant_ to do, you didn't, and you defied the Witch to help me."

"I think, perhaps," said Susan carefully, when her siblings had finished. "That _anyone_ whom Aslan has brought back ought not to dwell on the past, but to consider himself a new person. And as my brother and sister have said, that person, Mr. Tumnus, has been nothing but kind and loyal."

King Edmund cleared his throat. His royal siblings looked at him, as did Tumnus, but he did not say anything.

"Your majesties," said Tumnus, after a moment. "Your generosity is without measure, but I really must refuse." He looked at King Edmund again, at the two queens, and then at the high king. "If your majesties will excuse me?"

King Peter looked unhappy, but he nodded. "I won't order you to accept, but I do hope you will change your mind. You're excused."

"Thank you, your majesty," said Tumnus with a bow, and left the throne room.

The four kings and queens looked at one another for a moment. "Well, that was disappointing," said Peter.

"I suppose, we ought to consider another possible viceroy for Lantern Waste," said Susan doubtfully.

"But who?" said Lucy unhappily. "I did hope he would say yes!" She shook her head. "Poor Mr Tumnus."

They all considered the question for a moment.

"Oh, bother!" said Edmund. He stood up and left the room.

###

Mr Tumnus had not gone far. He could trot along quite quickly when he was in a cheerful mood or when he was frightened, but at the moment he was simply sad, and that had the effect of slowing his steps.

Edmund caught up to him in a very short time. "Mr Tumnus!" he said. The faun stopped. Being chased down by one's king, even if that king is a young boy, is enough to halt most loyal subjects in their tracks.

"Your majesty," said Mr. Tumnus. They were close to the same height, so it was difficult to not to meet the younger king's eyes. He shifted from hoof to hoof awkwardly.

Edmund seemed equally uncomfortable. "I know why you turned down the position," he began. "And you really needn't."

Tumnus pulled on his beard and then put a hand to the stubs of his horns. "It's really all right," he said. "I know you'd like to make me feel better about it - you're all so very good - but I do understand."

"I really don't think you do," muttered Edmund.

"But, of course," said Mr Tumnus. "Alsan has granted you the west. Lantern Waste is yours. You, of all people, who broke the Witch's wand at Beruna… I can't expect you to want one of her old henchmen for a-"

"Please, stop." Edmund's face screwed up into such an unhappy expression that Tumnus did. As red and pinched as the boy king looked, he rather resembled a shriveled tomato. Edmund cleared his throat, and rushed on. "I don't know what they're saying about Beruna. Peter makes rather more of it than he ought, but it really wasn't like that. Or, at least, I couldn't do anything else, you know. What with what she was doing and with what I'd _done_." He paused at Tumnus's look of confusion. "You didn't hear anything else about me?"

Tumnus shook his head. "What more is needed, your majesty? You are one of the Four, Aslan's chosen. Some folk are calling you the Witch's Bane."

Edmund blinked. "Oh." He blinked again. " _Really?_." His face grew a little less troubled and a little more distant at the same time. "I think," he said, after a moment, seeming to come back. "You ought to know."

This really was an awkward conversation to be having in the middle of a palace corridor, but when one's king is in the midst of an important revelation, one can't really choose the ground. "Know what, your majesty?"

There was this about the Four. Occasionally, they were very clearly children, but on other occasions, they seemed much older. Edmund's eyes reminded Tumnus of an aged centaur prophet he'd been introduced to when he was a little faun before the the Long Winter. At the time, Riverchaser was said to have been one of the last living Narnians to have seen Aslan. He'd had old eyes, too, and a smile as if he were remembering something both unbearably sad and unfathomably beautiful. Tumnus hadn't understood it until he'd met the Great Lion for himself.

Edmund's voice, however, was still that of a small boy. "How she - the Witch - found out you'd helped Lucy. Why you were arrested and - and everything else."

"Oh." Tumnus felt a creeping dread. He suspected what he was about to hear and suddenly would rather not, but one did not interrupt a king, even if that king was a boy.

"I told her," said Edmund quietly. "I didn't know who she was then. Though I knew she wasn't _good,_ " he admitted. "And when I did know, I didn't stop helping her. You might have endangered Lucy, but I did worse." Tumnus rubbed the stumps of his horns again and opened his mouth, but closed it. Edmund continued. "I'm sorry for it, and Aslan talked with me after they brought me back. I'm better now. But if you're not fit to be an advisor, I'm certainly not fit to be a king."

Unpleasant as the revelation was, Tumnus felt he ought to protest at this, but he couldn't quite think how. If he argued with the young king's logic, it rather invalidated his own reasoning for refusing the post.

Edmund stuffed his hands in his pockets. He glanced at the floor and then back at Tumnus. "Lucy's forgiven you, and she's forgiven me. Aslan has forgiven us both. I can certainly forgive you. I hope-" He sounded less than hopeful, but at the same time contented. "-You might be able to forgive me."

He was clearly finished. Tumnus shifted back from hoof to hoof once again, remembering the young kings and queens walking among the injured and fallen at Beruna, the whispers of how the younger son of Adam had sacrificed himself to destroy the Witch's wand, and the humility with which he'd seen the same young boy knighted by Aslan. He remembered the joy in Lucy's expression, and the approbation on the Great Lion's face. That same joy and that same love had been in Aslan's face when Tumnus awoke from stone in Jadis's house. He remembered the promises of the Witch, how his cave had been passed by on numerous occasions by the secret police because in certain secret records, Tumnus has listed as one of _hers_.

But the Four were supposed to be heroes. They were _chosen_.

"I think," said Tumnus. "I think Queen Susan was right. That those whom Aslan has saved ought not to look back."

###

In the records of the Golden Age of Narnia are included the diaries of the Faun Tumnus, Viceroy of Lantern Waste and advisor to the Royal Four. Tumnus's writings include this observation. _I once believed that the Great Lion only chose heroes, but I have come to believe that I was wrong. I have come to the conclusion of it, that the wonder of it is that He_ makes _heroes._

 _Fin._


End file.
